What Could Have Been
by AnnaLangdon
Summary: What if Carlos never gave Kylie up for adoption? Read from her perspective about her life as a sixteen year old, as well as the ups and downs of being the daughter of a member of the FDNY.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: _Third Watch_ (and all that it entails) is the property of its creators with the proper paperwork.

What Could Have Been

Chapter 1

I skip up the front steps of my high school, painfully aware of the fact that I am late again. Lame excuses begin zooming around in my head. The alarm clock broke? My bookcase fell in front of my bedroom door and I was trapped inside? The shower drain clogged and—nope, I don't see myself getting anywhere with that one. I resign myself to the fact that I am going to have to endure another lecture on "The Importance of Being Punctual" by my teacher, Ms. Atawell. I swear the woman must've been born with an atomic clock burned into her brain. What she doesn't seem to understand is that when you have first period study hall, you don't always feel motivated to arrive on the dot every morning.

I stash my must-have morning latte in the first trash can I see as I walk through the deserted hall. The sounds of typical mid-morning torture sessions are audible as I walk by closed classroom doors. I make my way to my own class, and take a deep breath as I open the door, bracing myself.

I receive a quick smile of encouragement from my best friend Sarah before—

"Ms. Nieto? A word?"

Grudgingly, I make my way to Ms. Atawell's desk. "I'm really sorry," I say as I approach, "But the shower drain clogged and my bookcase fell on the alarm clock and—" I trail off as I can tell she is not amused.

"Third time this month, Kylie," she reminds me. Like I need it. Her face softens. "You're doing really well in all of your classes, but this tardiness is unacceptable. I'm afraid I'm going to need to call your parents—I'm sorry," she says as my face drops. I nod as I turn to walk back to my desk.

"Hey," I say to Sarah as I sit down.

"Hey," she replies. "So, what was it this time?"

"The usual morning scramble. Line at Starbucks."

"You can't keep doing this Ky."

"Ha, you sound like our favorite teacher."

She changes the subject, "So what's the latest with you and Justin?"

The mention of my boyfriend lightens my mood instantly. "Not much. He came over for dinner last night and we studied for the calc test. Then he had to leave for a late night jam session with the guys."

"When's their next gig?"

"Next Friday. They're playing this little café."

We swap vital information back and forth quietly for the rest of the period. As I get up to leave, Ms. Atawell stops me. "Kylie, hang on."

I tell Sarah I'll catch up to her before turning back to the teacher's desk.

"I'll be calling at lunch, just giving you the heads-up," she says with a small smile, which I return, mumbling incoherently all the while.

I walk through the halls during passing period. I decided when I first met her that Ms. Atawell isn't that bad, save for the fact that she had a complete by-the-book attitude. She's a pretty cool teacher otherwise. I have her later in the afternoon for English, as well as for study hall. I've always had bonds with my English teachers—must be all that Shakespeare.

I continue walking with my head in the clouds, dawdling once more, this time to P.E., with my mind racing.

At this point, high school seems like a formality. I already know what I want to do with my life. I've known it since I was six, when I could recite normal vital signs for a typical adult. I want to be a paramedic, like my father and my stepmom. Cute, right? I know, it sounds cliché. It's true though; I've grown up around emergency workers. The firehouse is like my second home. Do you ever feel like something's in your blood? The desire to start IVs is in mine.

My name's Kylie Nieto. My dad's Carlos Nieto. The fact that we're father and daughter is practically a chapter in my life unto itself. Short version? My aunt sprung me on my dad when I was a baby, after my birth mom died. He was going to give me up for adoption, but decided against it. We had a hectic couple of years (because of course, I as a toddler remember it all), and then my dad met Holly, another paramedic. They were partners for a while, a little drama ensued, then poof! They were married. Okay. Fast-forward about twelve years. I'm 16, an only child, and on first-name terms with all the guys at the firehouse. I was sliding down the fire pole at 6, and they taught me how to throw a perfect spiral at 9. Somewhere in there, throw in meeting a really great core group of friends, including Sarah. Basically, I've had a typical-ish childhood, growing up in New York City. And I've just walked into a tree.

I rub my arm, grazed by the rough bark, and cursing my ability to completely shut out the world around me when I'm deep in thought. Although useful sometimes, it leaves me open to clumsy moments such as the one that just took place. Slightly amused with myself, I breathe in the crisp autumn air, and hurry to class.

* * *

Author's Note: Obviously this doesn't take into account the series finale; my own little AU, if you will.  



	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

At promptly 3:00, the bell rings and I shoot out of my seat. I gather my things and wait at the door for Justin, who always takes a long time to pack up.

"Hey," I greet him with a smile as we move out of the flow of traffic. He answers with the same smile and places a sweet kiss on my lips. I admit—I'm a sucker for PDA. Most people think it's gross, whatever, so I try to be respectful to them: This is why I didn't deepen the kiss…_too_ much.

"So," I continue after surfacing. "What are you doing this afternoon?"

"We had a rehearsal planned for five, but I don't know if I can make it. My mom's really sitting on me to work on my gov project. After that last test—she's not too happy."

"Mm," I nod. I think guiltily about my own project for Government. "Explore An Area of Our Government That Makes Our Country Unique." I chose the police department, and am going to do a ride-along with Ty and Sully tomorrow. I figure any time spent with Sully's bound to be a unique enough experience on its own. We arrive at my locker, which I hastily open and cram my calc book inside, pulling out my chem book.

"Anyway," Justin continues as we walk toward the main entrance, "What about you?"

"Not much," I answer. I hold up the chem book, "Studying." We walk down the front steps which I hurried up only hours ago. I reach up to give Justin a hug before we go our separate ways.

"Isn't that—" I hear his voice in my ear, "—your dad?"

I turn around and look where he's indicating. Sure enough, my dad's parked on the corner a little ways away, leaning out the passenger window gesturing for me to get in.

"Come on Kylie!" he yells, "I have to go!"

Slightly tinged with embarrassment, I turn back to Justin. "Call me later, okay?" I call as I walk toward the waiting SUV.

"Hi," I say cheerfully as I get in. I have a feeling I know what this is about, and figure I may as well start off on the right foot. "Why are you picking me up? I was going to take the subway."

"Come on, you know why," he says as I slump in my seat, my hopes of playing dumb flying out the window. "I wanted to talk to you—COME ON, IDIOT!" he interrupts himself, leaning on his horn. "Anyway," he continues, "I got a call today, from Ms. Atawell. Do you want to tell me what's going on?"

I think really quickly before answering, "So you want to talk to me about being late for school? It's—" I take an exaggerated look at my watch "—3:10. Aren't you late for work?"

Oddly enough, he's not amused; that I can tell, anyway. It occurs to me that Ms. Atawell didn't think my shower-clogging-the-bookcase-thus-smashing-the-alarm-clock story (or whatever it was I managed to pull out my ass) was that funny either. In light of recent events, I decide, my jokes have taken a hit. What those recent events are, I'm not too sure.

"Kylie." The mere mention of my name dispels any further ponderings on my part. I turn to face him.

"Yes?" I say sweetly.

"Look—" we're interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. "Nieto," he says, answering it. I strain to listen to the caller on the other end.

"I know, I'll be there in ten minutes," he answers after the voice finishes speaking. "Tell him, tell him—right. Okay, see you. Bye."

"Kylie," he says again as we round the corner, "Look, I don't know why you've been late to school. You always leave in the morning with plenty of time to get there. I don't know if it has anything to do with early morning stops—" he gives me a significant look and I know he means Starbucks, "—or anything. So if I get one more call, you'll be driven every morning, by either Holly or me. Also, every afternoon, you're to report to the firehouse after school. Got it?"

I sigh. "I guess."

"Good." He pulls up to the front of our building. "And one more thing," I have one hand on the door handle, "Ty said he and Sully would be waiting in the car tomorrow when you get out of school."

"Excellent," I say brightly, "I can look like I'm being arrested."

"That's the idea," Dad says, shrugging with a smile. At that point I know we're okay. "I have to go. Holly's working a half shift today, so she should be home in a few hours."

"Have a good shift!" I call out as he drives off. He honks twice in response.

I turn around, facing the steps in front of me. I dig my key out as I walk up. After opening the door and a quick elevator ride, I'm standing in front of our door. When I walk in, I toss my bag on the couch and sling my jacket over a chair. Suddenly famished, I decide to see what we have in the way of food.

The refrigerator is thankfully well-stocked, Holly's doing, I'm sure. I know for a fact that before she came along, my dad was your typical bachelor, and all that that implies. After a bit of digging, I settle for some plastic wrap-covered guacamole and carrot sticks. Now, I know what you're about to say. My food tastes are a little bit—different. (Actually, I prefer "eccentric.") What can I say? I pour myself a glass of lemonade and carry my snack to the counter.

When I'm done, I bring my school stuff into my room and flop down on my bed, exhausted. From my horizontal position, I survey my room. It's not as clean as I'd prefer it to be. Grudgingly, I get up, knowing I won't be able to concentrate as long as it's not. I work for a couple of minutes before the ringing phone breaks me from my meditation. Yup—cleaning is like meditating for me.

"City morgue," I answer on the fourth ring.

"Hey Kylie."

"Hey," I say back, relieved it's Sarah. For some reason, my parents are less than enthused when I greet callers with anything but the typical "Hello?" particularly when it opens the floor up to questions regarding our refrigeration habits.

"What's up?"

"Erm, not much. Cleaning," I add sheepishly.

"Well, sorry to interrupt you," Sarah says, the grin evident in her voice. "Did Atawell bust you?"

"Yeah, she talked to my dad. He wasn't too happy either; I 'am to report,' he says, to the firehouse everyday after school."

"Ah," she answers in her "wise tone."

We talk for a little while longer, until I can practically hear my chemistry book flapping its pages in anger, demanding to be studied. I tell Sarah I'll IM her later and we hang up. Walking back into my room, I resign myself to a long session of homework.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I am so engrossed in absent-mindedly tapping my pencil against the Periodic Table that I don't realize Holly has come home until she knocks on my open door.

"Hey," she says when I turn around with a gasp. "Sorry," she adds sheepishly seeing my shocked expression. "Can I come in?" At my nod, she settles herself on my bed, and I swivel in my desk chair to face her.

"So," she begins, and I know she's talked to Dad. "Do you want to talk?"

"Um, not really. I mean, there's not much to talk about."

"You're not the late, disorganized kind of person," Holly says, "I mean, look at this room! You make Monica look like…well, it's really clean," she finishes lamely.

I smile at the _Friends_ reference—it's been off the air for almost 14 years, but it stands firmly in my mind as _the_ best sitcom of all times; next to _Seinfeld_, of course. Whoops, Holly's talking again. I reluctantly wrench my mind from 90's television show comparisons.

"Anyway, what's going on?"

"I—don't really know. Nothing, really, I just am…late, I guess," I shrug. "Not in a pregnant way, either, and I'm not smoking pot or turning tricks on street corners before school," I add hastily. One thing I pride myself on is my ability to come up with quick-witted euphemisms from prostitution. I hope my quip has lightened the mood.

Holly raises one eyebrow, and I can tell she's amused in spite of herself. "Okay, well I'm here—we both are—if you need to talk about anything," she says with a smile. She stands up, "I'm going to start dinner."

"Okay, I'll come give you a hand when I'm done here," I say turning back to my book. "Oh, and Holly?" I add when she's in the doorway. "The firehouse—? Everyday after school?"

"Sorry, don't push it."

Reluctantly, I turn back to my work. After several more minutes of blank staring, I give up, figuring I'll finish my work tomorrow in study hall, possibly "referencing" Sarah's. I glance through my notebook, relieved to find that besides my project for gov, I have nothing more requiring immediate attention. Mercifully, we had a sub in calculus, and had a free period in which I finished my other homework.

I shoot an inquisitive look at my computer, momentarily transfixed as my screensaver catapults me through space. I decide to check my e-mail, on the off chance something besides my word-a-day is waiting there for me.

I log in and check my inbox. Nope, nothing except today's word. After learning that "wastrel" (WAY-struhl), a noun, is a person who wastes, especially one who squanders money, or an idler, loafer, or good-for-nothing, I check my Buddy List. I'm surprised to find Justin is logged on too.

kyliefuturemedic: hey what's up? thought you had practice

jumpinjackflash: nope cancelled. working on my gov project. how's yours coming?

kyliefuturemedic: pretty good, doing a polic ride-along tomorrow

jumpinjackflash: cool! be careful

kyliefuturemedic: thanx i'll keep that in mind :P

jumpinjackflash: what r u doing?

kyliefuturemedic: not much, just finished my hw. gonna help holly w/ dinner

jumpinjackflash: ok i gotta go too.

kyliefuturemedic: ok see you tomorrow xoxo

jumpinjackflash: bye ky xoxo

kyliefuturemedic: oh you...

jumpinjackflash: what? it rhymes!

I log off with a smile and feel myself drifting into a reflecting mood. This typically happens when I'm either very sad or taking a bath. Currently, I'm neither. All the same, I sit back in my chair and allow my mind to wander.

It's mid-October, and two weeks from now will mark my and Justin's ten month anniversary. We've come a long way in ten months, from when we met after winter break. He'd just moved to New York from Missouri, and had all of that small-town boyish charm. That, coupled with my big-city savvy, made us quite a pair. We've evolved from naïve teenagers to…sophisticated teenagers? (Or is that an oxymoron?) I think this whole reflecting business works better when I'm taking a bath.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Dinner is a quiet affair. Sarah and I made a decision last week that we were going to try to "reintroduce" obsolete words and terms back into the vernacular. Dubbing things "affairs," whether quiet or otherwise, is an example of this. (Never mind, of course, that this entire conversation just took place in my head, therefore my "quiet affair" statement isn't exactly dazzling the masses.)

"So," Holly says, "You're going to be riding with Ty and Sully tomorrow." I nod. "Nervous?"

"Not really," I answer. Truth is, I haven't really thought about it. I've been so caught up in the idea of having a kick-ass project that the idea of being in any kind of danger has completely eluded me. However, now that I'm actually thinking about it—

"You're going to be fine, you know," Holly says, as if reading my thoughts. I've heard about women syncing up the menstrual cycles, but mind-reading…?

"I know," I say, but it comes out slightly squeakier than I intended. "But what if—something happens?"

"Well, look," Holly says matter-of-factly. "You never know what can happen _anywhere_, but I have a feeling that Ty would do whatever's necessary to protect his goddaughter. And, look, if you get too freaked out, they can raise one of us on the radio and we'll drop you home in the bus." She smiles meaningfully, and I know that she only added that last bit to appeal to my sense of pride—no matter what, I would _never_ admit that something was too much for me.

"Okay," I say with a smile, and to my delight, my voice is pitch-perfect.

* * *

The rest of the night is a quiet affair (ha!) as well. I conveniently "forget" about my chem homework, and after reading on the couch for a little while I decide to take a shower and turn-in early. While I'm changing in my room, it occurs to me that this whole reintroducing words business is making me sound like a dweeb. 'Turn-in'? And, while I'm on the subject, 'dweeb'? _Whatever, now is not the time_, I tell myself as I slip my shirt over my head. 

Showers aren't quite up to par, thinking-wise, as baths are. This doesn't stop me this time though, as my reflecting mood from earlier returns. When I step out of the shower ten minutes later, I've once again given myself a lot to think about (call it "reflecting mood homework"). Believe it or not, I don't think I'm the type to over-analyze things (despite what my friends and diaries might tell you—well, the friends anyway. And if my diaries tell you anything, run. And not just because of the things I've written in them, but because, well, you've got a diary talking to you!) Um, anyway, what was I saying? Oh, right. Over-analyze? Me? Nah.

I change into my pajamas when I get back into my room, and upon catching site of myself in the mirror, I immediately get disgruntled with the state of my hair (Why does it _always_ have to frizz?) I go back into the living room, and find Holly. She's sitting on the couch that I vacated (vacated…is that used anymore? This reintroducing stuff can get tricky).

"I think I'm going to turn-in," I say (score! This time I actually said one out loud!)

Holly looks up and gives me a hint of a knowing smile before, "Okay sweetie." I see her glance at the clock on the cable box and see her slight surprise that's it still pretty early. "That's a good idea, you should get a good night's sleep."

I kiss her good night, and go back to my room. Excited though I am about the prospect of going to bed before my "standard time," I decide I can't without reading for a few minutes first. Some habits die hard…except—nah, I'm too tired for once to argue with myself.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

My alarm wakes me up with a jolt, and I blink really quickly, willing my memory to catch up. Do you ever wake up and it takes a good few moments to realize where you are, what day it is, and what you need to do? Personally, I always love it when I shriek with panic at the time on the clock, and rush into my clothes and am halfway through shoving both legs down the same pant-leg when I realize it's Saturday.

No such luck today though, but at least it's Friday, nonetheless. And—I wait for the thought to come zooming back to me—I'm doing my ride-along today after school. I stumble out of bed, rubbing sleep from my eyes, and it occurs to me that I haven't given something very important an ounce of thought: what to wear. I mean, really. What do you wear when you're chasing down hardened criminals, barking orders into your radio, and all of that other police business? Besides a uniform and duty belt and stuff, that is.

At this point in time, the much saner portion of my brain (as sane as it can be at seven-something o'clock in the morning) says "Now, Kylie. You're _not_ going to be chasing down hardened criminals, barking orders into your radio, and doing all of that other police business. You're a civilian—and a minor at that—and you're working on a school project. GIVE IT A REST!"

And about…now, the other portion of my brain (the hyped up, excited, "slap 'em in irons" portion) says something to the effect of "Great. You just _had_ to ruin it for me, didn't ya?" Then a mass amount of eye-poking and hair-pulling ensues.

Isn't life grand?

Whilst this admittedly asinine conversation is taking place in my head, I turn back to the situation at hand: getting dressed. I settle for jeans (you can't go wrong with jeans) and a t-shirt (you could _easily_ go wrong with a t-shirt. I therefore—wisely, in my opinion—decide against anything in the logo, brand name, or scarlet woman-suggestive category and instead settle on a solid polo-type thing. I look professional, but not scholarly; put-together, but still casual enough for school.)

Once the tornado that is me getting ready blows over, I flounce into the kitchen where Holly is already up, making breakfast. From the dulcet tones issuing from the counter, I deduce that Holly inventing another kind of early-morning smoothie (she's been trying out new recipes ever since her last one gave us all the runs for two days).

While I'm saying my hello's and good morning's to Holly, my dad stumbles out from the hallway, and says what might be a "Good morning," but it's really difficult to tell as he's yawning at the same time.

"Hi Dad," I say, going over and kissing him on the cheek as well. Once the early morning greetings and whatnot have been observed, I focus my attention back to what Holly's doing. The blender has stopped and she's pouring out its thick, deep purple contents into three glasses.

"So what's in this one?" I ask as I pick up mine. I don't sip it—not yet—out of concern for my gastrointestinal tract. I notice out of the corner of my eye that my dad isn't exactly bottoms-upping his either.

"Nothing to worry about, I tried it yesterday. Lots of blueberries—antioxidants, you know."

At this point, I begin to tune out Holly the Health Nut's antioxidant anecdotes while I sip my smoothie. It isn't bad, either. The smoothie, that is—not that her anecdotes are bad, just a little on the dull side…

I'm distracted from my musings when I see Holly shooting my dad a Look across the table.

"Carlos…" she says, sounding very un-Hollyish. Her voice has a strangled sort of rasp to it, and she continues looking at him, then nods very pointedly at me.

"Right," he says, almost flustered. Puzzled at the exchange that just took place, I look eagerly at him when he turns to me.

"Okay, Kylie, we just wanted to talk to you about—what you might see today. I know you're not naïve or anything—" he adds hastily, upon seeing my look of indignation. "But you might see some things on the street that are a little bit—new to you."

Oh my God. Oh my God, I'm getting the Concerned Parents' Speech.

"So, look. I'm sure you'll be fine, but if you get into any trouble, you know I'm in Adam 55-3 and Holly's in Boy 55-3. And we have our cells, and you have yours." I nod. It seems the appropriate place to insert a nod.

"Well, uh—" I say, clearing my throat semi-awkwardly. I'm not entirely sure what just happened here. "I better get going, don't want to be late," I say significantly. "Love you both," I say as I get up and put my glass in the sink.

I grab my bag and hightail it outta there, properly excited about my upcoming "adventure." I mean, really, my dad made a big deal about it just now, and Holly talked to me about it last night. What's the worst that could happen?


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The school day bears all the resemblance of a Friday: in other words, by the end of the day heads are drooping and even the people that are always sitting stick-straight taking notes with rapt attention have slowed down a bit. However, I'm too wired to be among them (the head droopers; I've never been a stick-straight note-taker).

Somehow, I manage to make it through the day without bouncing off the walls (_too_ much), and before I know it (okay, that's a lie. Way, way _after_ I know it) the last bell is ringing. I hastily shove all but the most pressing books into my locker, wave good-bye to those I see on my way out (no PDA this afternoon) and positively race down the steps of the front building. As promised, the police car is parked right in front, receiving more than a few fleeting glances from students bustling past.

I knock on the front door and wave to Sully as he turns. Ty gets out of the driver's seat and walks around to meet me.

"Hey," he greets me, taking my bag and stowing it in the trunk. I return his greeting with a "hey" of my own and a smile, suddenly shy as the enormity of what I'm about to do hits me. Well, maybe "enormity" isn't the right word; but still, I'm getting slightly nervous.

Ty opens the door to the backseat for me and I climb in, greeting Sully (verbally this time) as I do. Ty gets back into the driver's seat and they both turn back to face me, the effect of which is slightly amusing as there's a grill separating us.

"Okay," Ty begins, over the occasional crackling of the radio, "We need to go over a couple of ground rules." (I settle back into my seat for what I'm sure is going to be the type of conversation that requires comfortable seating; surprisingly however, it seems that the backseats of police cars are not built for comfort.) "First, _you stay in the car_. I'm serious Kylie," he adds, probably on account of seeing my mouth wrench open in both outrage/shock/relief. If it's something you can see, either Sully or I'll come and get you, but unless we do, you stay in the RMP, got it?" I nod.

"Jesus, Davis, she's going to think we're not taking this seriously," Sully cracked next to him. Ty shot him a look before continuing,

"And, if anything happens out there, you get down as low as you can in your seat okay? Also, if we need to transport a prisoner or anyone like that, you might need to ride back to the house with someone else." He turned to Sully, "I think that's it, what d'you think?"

"The doors," Sully grunted.

"Oh, right," Ty continued with a small grin. "You're locked in, for obvious reasons. So, you know, you'll have to wait to be let out," he finished somewhat lamely, somewhat obviously. "Anyway, ready to roll?" I nod, making a mental note of the phrase "Ready to roll" for future use in my reintroducing words and terms campaign.

* * *

After a half hour, my ride-along is actually getting pretty boring. Sully explained to me that they drive around their sector, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious, waiting to get calls on the radio. So far though, nothing's happened— 

"Units respond, shots fired at 135th and Broadway," the radio squawks, (finally) crackling to life.

"55-Charlie, 135th and Broadway," Sully repeats, acknowledging the call.

Ty guns the engine and flips on the siren as I hear "55-David, 135th and Broadway" over the radio.

We fly through the streets and soon arrive on a crowd of people bending over someone on the sidewalk, presumably someone who's been shot, or so I can surmise. Ty and Sully jump out of the car just as another squad car pulls up, who I'm guessing is 55-David. Despite the excitement unfolding in front of me, it occurs to me that it's been a while since I've seen Bosco and Faith.

Ty and Sully approach the knot of people, who break away to let them through. They are closely followed by Faith and Bosco. I catch a glimpse of a woman on the ground, bleeding heavily from somewhere in her abdomen. I fight every instinct in my body to stop myself from jumping out of the car (if I could have, that is) and going to help her.

"55-Charlie to Central, we need a bus at this location. Confirmed shooting of an approximately 30 year old female, GSW to the abdomen." Ty says into his radio. He turns to the group before him as Faith and Sully don gloves and (from what I can see) look like they're putting pressure on her wounds. "Okay, what happened?" he asks.

"This lady was just walking, and a guy came up behind her and they started arguing, and then he pulled a gun out and she started yelling and he shot her!" a younger guy answered, looking scared but eager to be of help.

Bosco takes him aside, I can only assume to question him further, while Ty says more things into his radio. Meanwhile, the only thing I'm concentrating on is the woman bleeding on the sidewalk. Where are the paramedics?

After what only amounted to probably about two or three minutes (but felt much longer) I finally hear the sounds of the siren that hail an ambulance's arrival. I receive a jolt when I realize that Grace and my dad have jumped out, med bags slung over their shoulders.

"Carlos! Over here!" Faith yells from her position at the woman's side. I notice that Sully is now attempting some form of crowd control, to give the medics some room to work. I watch on the edge of my seat as IVs are started, injuries are assessed, and finally, the patient is transferred onto a stretcher and wheeled into the back of the ambulance.

It looks like Bosco and Faith will be staying behind, because Sully and Ty are making their way back over to the car.

"We're going to follow them to Mercy," Sully explains as Ty speeds away after the ambulance's flashing lights.

* * *

Author's Note: Okay. I know absolutely _nothing_ about the streets of NYC, and my only knowledge of police calls/codes/procedure comes from the show and a _lot _of online research. If there is anything brutally wrong/distracting/etc., _please_ let me know so I can fix it!  



	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Our set of flashing lights follows the flashing lights of the ambulance in front of us. I'm surprised that I'm so shaken by the events that just transpired in front of me—I'm no newbie when it comes to blood, and I'm not exactly naïve either about the violence in our society. I decide, over the blare of the sirens, that I'm glad that I'm more than a little rattled—it means I'm not a total robot inside, right?

"All you all right, Kylie?" I hear Ty's voice, as though he's speaking from very far away.

I nod without really realizing it, as though one part of my brain is on auto-pilot, thus allowing another part to continue sorting through my thoughts and feelings. And right now…the only thought and feeling I have is _whoa._

We pull up behind the ambulance at the hospital. From my position I see Grace and my dad doing their jobs as the ER staff comes out to meet them. They wheel the gurney inside. Ty and Sully get out of the car, and to my surprise Sully opens my door—clearly, I'm allowed to come in.

I get to my feet excitedly and follow them through the double doors into the ER. Once inside, the most I can do is look through the windows of the trauma room, in what I think is an innocent-enough gesture—

"Kylie!"

Damn. I turn around to see my dad at the nurse's station, where he's started filling out the run sheet.

"Hi," I say as I walk over to him.

"How's your ride-along been?"

"Well," I say lowering my voice—Sully's filling out paperwork too, "It was dull, until…" I nod my head in the direction of the trauma room.

"I see," my dad says knowingly. "How was that?"

"Different," I answer honestly. "Not what I expected—of myself."

"First time out can be hard."

"Hey, Carlos."

I look up as a new voice enters our conversation to see Ty coming toward us.

"How bad is she?"

"Pretty bad, she's going to be going up to surgery."

"Any chance I can question her, before she goes up?"

"I don't think so Davis, she's pretty out of it."

I slowly edge away from their conversation. I wander a little ways, smiling to some of the hospital workers as they nod to me. It's a bad habit of mine—wandering, that is, not smiling. In my wanderings, I've become pretty well acquainted with a lot of the people in the ER. Another thing I do is that when I wander in a hospital—I can get a _smidge_ nosy…or as I prefer, "enthusiastic probing."

I realize with a start that I should get back to the desk in case we're going to be leaving. I find Sully and Ty and we're just about to leave when—

"Oh no you don't, missy"

I spin around quickly, finding myself face-to-face with Nurse Proctor.

"Hi!" I say, giving her a hug (see what I mean about acquainting myself with my parents' coworkers?)

"What are you doing hanging around with these guys?" she asks with a teasing grin, nodding to the police officers behind me.

"Easy, Mary," Sully says with a teasing grin of his own, "She's riding with us for a school project."

"Oh, well that explains it," Proctor says solemnly. "You boys take care of my favorite Nieto!" she calls after Ty and Sully.

* * *

A few minutes later, we're back riding on the street. I wonder if it's too much to hope for anymore excitement, but an instant later I regret thinking that. Surely "excitement" would entail someone else getting hurt? 

"55-Charlie, 10-21 at 2800 137th St." the radio says over my musings.

"55-Charlie, 2800 137th," Ty says, taking the call.

I recognize that we're right near the call. "What's a 10-21?"

"Burglary in progress," Sully answers.

"Central, do we have any more information on that 10-21?" Ty asks into his radio.

"Negative, Charlie. Neighbor called from the window. 10-6"

"10-4, Central."

We round the corner, and I am right in guessing that it would be too much to hope for to be able to get out of the car this time. Ty and Sully are get out of the car, leaving me to sit in the back and People Watch.

I don't know how long I sit there, but when they come back, empty-handed, I guess the job hasn't gone spectacularly. At any rate, we get rolling again.

* * *

The late afternoon quickly progresses to evening, and streetlights and headlights begin flicking on. We take a couple more calls, general police business and whatnot. (Okay, how _fun_ is it to say that? "Police business"? Right, never mind.) 

"Hey Kylie we've got our meal coming up, but I really need to catch up on some paperwork," Ty says from the driver's seat. "Is it okay if we go back to the house for a bit?"

"Sure," I answer.

"If you're hungry you can go across to the firehouse, see who cooked tonight. You may not want to if it was Walsh," Sully adds with a smirk.

"I'll check it out," I say happily. It's been a while since I've seen the guys. I don't add that Walsh's cooking is a picnic compared to D.K.'s—I've had experience with both.

We get to King and Arthur, and the car slows in front of the firehouse to let me out.

"So what do you think?" Ty asks me. "Do you want us to pick you up again and you can ride until the end of the shift, or do you think you've had enough?"

I hesitate. Leaning into Sully's window, I say "It's been great, thank you both so much, but I'm pretty tired. I just don't think I can make it until eleven."

Ty nods, "Fair enough. I'll see you later," he smiles.

"Thanks again!" I call, thumping the trunk for effect as they drive off.

I stand there for a moment until it hits me. _Damn._ My backpack. In the trunk. And it was a near-perfect exit too. Resigning myself to certain slight-humiliation (at the least), I tear after the squad car.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 

When I walk into the firehouse, backpack-that-caused-me-to-tear-after-a-police-car in hand, the dulcet tones of the guys cheering on some sporting event greet my ears. I find everyone in the main room, quite literally the stereotype of the big guys sitting around watching football.

"Hey guys!" I call out as I walk in.

My greeting is returned with various forms of "Hey Kylie!" and "Hey Kiddo!" I perch on one end of the couch, momentarily drawn into the game as well.

After one particularly incredible touchdown that elicited cheers from all parties involved, I ask, "Are my mom or dad around?"

"I think Carlos is upstairs, Holly's still out on a run," DK answers next to me.

"Kay, thanks!" I say, shouldering my bag once more and turning for the stairs.

* * *

I trek upstairs and find my dad in his office. He made paramedic supervisor a few years ago. I rap lightly on the open door to announce my presence. 

"Hey Honey, how was your day?" he inquires pleasantly enough, but I can see the build-up of a yawn which gives way to just how tired he really is.

"Pretty cool, it was more of the same stuff after I saw you at the hospital."

"Cool," he glances at the clock on the wall, "It's almost nine. Were you planning on hanging out here 'till the end of shift?"

"I guess so," I answer, "I can do some homework on a Friday night…a virtually unheard of concept."

"Well, that'll be enough to convince me to let you stay!"

Throughout the house, the clanging of the bell is unmistakable.

"Crap," my dad mutters. Hastily rubbing his eyes, he gets up and calls down the hall, "Grace, we gotta go!" The sounds of shuffling and racing toward gear is heard downstairs as everyone scrambles for the truck. Grace rushes the door and follows after my dad.

"Hey Kylie!" she calls over her shoulder to me as I follow her down the stairs. "Ally's been asking when you're coming back to 'baby-watch!'"

"Tell her anytime," I answer with a laugh. Ally is Grace and Finney's (okay, I know, _Brenden_, but he's always been Finney to everyone—and, I happily count myself as a member of "everyone") daughter. She's almost two, and completely obsessed with me. I'm her favorite "baby-watcher." The Finney's also have a son, Daniel, who's a couple years younger than me. He's still trapped in the clutches of middle school, but I have a feeling we're going to get married. Before you say anything, _I know, I know_. But it's a theory of mine—I'm going to be a medic, and he's going to be NYPD. Call it history repeating himself, whatever. All that I'm saying is that he's _very_ cute, we've grown up together, and we're going to end up childhood sweethearts. (Not to say that I've already picked out our children's names and bedroom colors…unless of course, you promise you wouldn't judge me if I told you had.) And another thing: _I know, I know._ _Justin_. What about Justin, you ask? Are you a shameless scarlett vixen? No, no, no. No, I'm not. This Me-and Daniel thing is more of a running joke (minus the bit about the children's bedroom colors) among everyone. I'm absolutely crazy about Justin, Officer, no need to panic.

After a couple more minutes, the house is quiet except for the blare of the abandoned football game. I've always been in awe of how everyone here can just drop everything to rush to someone else's aid. Me, I require a good seven or eight minutes—to stop what I'm doing in the first place. I can only assume (and hope) that it's a talent acquired with time.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

At the firehouse over an hour later, everyone is still gone and I'm getting restless. I've been reading in my dad's office, and I set my book down on my chair. I go downstairs, realizing with every step just how hungry I am. I yawn, casting a look at the clock. It's almost ten-thirty.

I go into the kitchen, my hopes of finding something edible not exactly sky-high. At the house, there's either food or there isn't, depending on who cooked that night (if it was good there aren't leftovers, if it was bad there are plenty) and the number of jobs they've been called to. Either way, unless you've got something that's specifically yours that's put away, you could easily be out of luck. Unless, of course, you're sneaky (ahem), devious (ahem, ahem), and most importantly, _alone in the kitchen_ (ahem, ahem, _ahem_). I open the refrigerator, and find something for myself that passes as edible.

I finish up, ready to go back to my book, when I hear the telltale sounds of the fire truck and engine pulling in. I hear stashing of gear and other post-run business and everyone trickles in and out of the kitchen.

I hang out for a little while until I hear an ambulance coming in. Holly and her partner Madeleine are back.

"Hi," I greet them.

Holly returns my hug, and I can see she looks just as tired as my dad as she heads straight for the kettle for a cup of tea. Madeleine pulls up a chair next to me.

"How's it going?" Madeleine asks me. I like her—she's pretty new on the job, but virtually radiates medical knowledge and excellent patient care.

"Pretty good," I answer as the hustle and bustle in the kitchen continues around us. "Doing the whole school thing."

"The whole school thing?" Madeleine asks with amusement.

"Yup," I answer proudly and matter-of-factly. "School's good, friends are good, the whole bit—ah, thing."

"I see," she answers.

"How're you?" I ask. (In addition to being the polite way to respond, I absolutely _have_ to know other people's business. It's part of my charm—ah, thing.)

"Exhausted," she yawns, "I've been taking extra shifts."

Holly comes back over to where we're sitting, trademark mug in hand as she takes a seat next to me. "I think we can head out," she says to me. "Dad might not be back for a little while."

"What happened?" I ask.

Holly hesitates. "It was pretty bad," she says simply.

"Bad—?" I begin, but Madeleine cuts me off.

"It was a family, with little kids. Two of the youngest girls didn't survive," she says quietly.

I nod, gently putting my head on Holly's shoulder as a sign of sympathy and support. I learned long ago that Holly and my dad have very different ways of dealing with bad runs: Holly gets really quiet (and sometimes moody) and lights an abnormal amount of candles. My dad stomps around, occasionally breaking things and yelling. It's just another side of the job.

"All right," Holly says after a few moments. "Ready to go?" I nod.

I run upstairs and grab my things, calling my good-byes to everyone. When I get back downstairs, Holly has her coat on. I say good-bye to Madeleine, and we step out into the New York night air.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

When we get home, Holly kisses me good night and heads straight into the bathroom. After a few moments I hear the telltale signs of the bath water running—another of her coping techniques. As for me, it's almost 11:30 on a Friday night, and I'm not quite ready to let the evening die. I flip on the TV, hoping to catch some late-night sitcom reruns. Ten minutes later, I hear a key turn in the lock, announcing my dad's return.

"Hey Ky," he greets me.

"Hey Dad," I answer as he hangs up his coat in the front hall.

"Whatcha watching?" he asks as he takes a seat next to me on the couch.

"Nothing much," I say, "Just flipping."

He yawns widely. "Where's Holly?"

"Bath," I answer simply. "She didn't look too good."

My dad frowns slightly, "Okay, I'm going to bed," he says and we do our traditional Three Stooges routine—you know, where he puts his hand vertical along his nose and I try to poke out his eyes? Yup, it's another hazard of being raised around men.

Pretty soon, I hear Holly coming out of the bathroom and I'm alone in the apartment. I give into sleep's pull and head into my room, quickly pulling out a random t-shirt and pair of sweatpants. Fitting it over my head (the t-shirt, obviously, not the pants—it's not Tuesday), I pull down the covers of my blissfully perfectly-made bed, and settle into an almost certainly well-deserved sleep.

* * *

I am unceremoniously roused at what I am sure must be an un-godly hour. My brain takes a moment to catch up (at least this time I didn't rush to get ready for school) as I realize that while the two letters "AM" on my digital clock are certainly misleading, the sunlight streaming through my window confirms that it certainly isn't an un-godly hour of the morning. Upon further brain catching-up, I realize that what unceremoniously roused me is a noise coming from the bathroom. (I know, _thank God_ I didn't say bedroom.) Maybe I should be more specific. Not _a noise_ coming from the bathroom, but _multiple noises in rapid succession._ Crap, I'm dancing around this. It is _vomit_, dear friends, the sounds of _vomit._

I stumble out of bed, only momentarily detained as I stub my toe (and simultaneously issue something slightly resembling a strangled war cry), heading out to discover the owner of the vomit. I intend, not only to possibly hold hair, clothing, etc. back, but to possibly get a look at what's coming up. Seriously, you can learn a lot about a person from their stomach contents—or ex-stomach contents, more like. For example, after one particularly satisfying Thanksgiving dinner, I helped myself to a nice bit of pumpkin pie. Less than twenty four hours later, I ascertained that there was something clearly _off_ about that pumpkin pie, as demonstrated by watching my previously-satisfying-now-plain-disgusting Thanksgiving dinner make a second appearance—in reverse. Something about seeing whole pecans amid the mess put me off pumpkin pie, _for life_.

Anyway, I stop short at the bathroom upon realizing that my dad has beaten me to the punch, and has taken the coveted position of hair-and-clothing-holder. He's kneeling beside Holly, offering feeble words of encouragement that are drowned out by her retching.

* * *

"YOU'RE WHAT?" 

"Yes."

"I DIDN'T ASK FOR CONFIRMATION, I ASKED 'YOU'RE WHAT?'!"

I can barely suppress my glee as Holly answers "I'm pregnant!"—an answer somewhat drowned out by my dad's insistence to kiss her.

Okay, okay, back up, right? After catching my parents in that rather odd position in the bathroom (the _vomiting_ one, duh), I was treated to an explanation of such matters fifteen minutes later. That answer ended up being Holly's "Kylie, I'm pregnant!" I immediately launch myself on both parents, not too difficult a task, seeing as how they're practically joined together.

After a long, excited discussion at the breakfast table, I am back in my room thinking to myself, "Hurrah, hurrah, and thrice hurrah!" I've always wanted a baby brother or sister, and (carefully side-stepping the obvious implications, activity-wise, of both my dad and Holly) I'm finally getting one! I won't lie, it seemed touch-and-go there for a while—I mean, they're not exactly _young_ (no spring chickens here!), but still! Hurrah, hurrah, and thrice hurrah!


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The rest of Saturday is largely devoted to sitting around the apartment while Dad and Holly call a "few" people (their words, not mine) to tell them about the pregnancy. When they're done, I politely ask how the Pope took the news. Neither one of them answers, which perplexes me.

Sometime in the late afternoon, I decide that I should at least pretend to work on my Government project. I turn on my computer, only to find myself practically unable to control my hand's inching the mouse toward the internet icon. I log on, figuring it can't hurt to check my e-mail.

My inbox is empty, but I see that Sarah's online.

pixyeestixyee: hey sweetie! how was ur ride along?

kyliefuturemedic: pretty cool, minus the near-whacking

pixyeestixyee: THE WHAT?

kyliefuturemedic: jk. guess what?

pixyeestixyee: what?

kyliefuturemedic: ok, but this is like BEYOND huge. like, really, really huge. almost on par with a dam bursting.

pixyeestixyee: for crap's sake, get on with it! i already have to pee, so i have my own dam to worry about…

kyliefuturemedic: yeah, yeah. I'm trying to give it a proper set-up, you know?

pixyeestixyee: KYLIE…

kyliefuturemedic: HOLLY'S PREGNANT!

kyliefuturemedic: hello?

pixyeestixyee: whoa. you weren't kidding. THIS IS SO COOL! you always wanted a baby…i mean…well, you know. anyway, THAT'S GREAT!

kyliefuturemedic: i know(!)x58

pixyeestixyee: this is so awesome. anyway sweetie, sorry to have to run but i'm late…

kyliefuturemedic: for a very important date?

pixyeestixyee: we'll see…;)

kyliefuturemedic: isn't it a little bit early for a date? it's not even five-thirty—those brats from downstairs are still playing outside.

pixyeestixyee: and have i mentioned, ky, what a WONDERFUL older sister you're going to make?

kyliefuturemedic: that's not the point! they're terrors, you know that! anyway, you're changing the subject. are you or are you not going out for an early bird special?

pixyeestixyee: PUH-LEEZE. and they say you have to be SMART to be a medic…i have to get ready!

kyliefuturemedic: i'll never understand you people…

pixyeestixyee: 'you people'?

kyliefuturemedic: nvm. go, glam up and knock 'em dead. anyone i know, by the way?

pixyeestixyee: um…yeah. mark?

kyliefuturemedic: MARK? when did this happen?

pixyeestixyee: yesterday. i tried to call you. anyway, we want to keep it sorta quiet for a little while, because, you know…it's MARK.

kyliefuturemedic: oh yeah, I KNOW MARK. incidentally, does he KNOW you've been secretly in love with him FOR OVER A YEAR?

pixyeestixyee: yeah, he knows about me as well as half the female population at our school.

kyliefuturemedic: oh, i'm so happy for you! good luck, tell me EVERYTHING later.

pixyeestixyee: thanks, 'ta

As Sarah signs off, a couple things come to mind. First of all, I'm really happy about her and Mark. Not only for her sake, no way. FOR MINE, as well. Who's had to endure her constant moaning and groaning about "Oh, I am SO in love with him, and he doesn't even know I exist!" and "Did you _see_ Mark today? SO HOT!" When he first started going out with his now-ex girlfriend it was "That _bitch_! I'd like to—" which she would end with a few choice words that I can't, in good conscience, include. You'll get the idea if I tell you that on more than one occasion I had to positively _restrain_ her as she seethed. As I tried at the time to explain to her, "I've heard that being behind bars won't help your chances with a guy."

The other thing that I thought about as Sarah signed off was me. Or, more specifically: me and this baby-to-be-which-is-currently-a-mass-of-dividing-cells-in-my stepmother's-uterus. I mean, I've always heard about how when parents have another kid, at any age, and whether they're stepparents or not, it can get weird for the older siblings. I mean, that's a huge DUH, right? It's a given, obviously. Is it going to be a given for me, too? Especially because Holly's not my real mom? And—I can't believe this even popped into my mind—it's not secret that my dad and birth mom didn't have a great relationship. I've always been told she was a little out there. Is there any way that my dad might…I don't know…"cast me aside" somehow, to make room for his "real" child?

Holy crap, I can't believe I just came up with all of that stuff. I think I might've been more affected by yesterday's ride-along than I originally thought. I'm totally out of it, this is ridiculous. I wish I could tell someone, just so they would reassure me that YES, I AM out of my MIND. Look, Kylie, you're THRILLED about this news! It's what you've ALWAYS WANTED! You're just tired. Go, get some rest and then work on your project and other homework for a little while before dinner.

SEE? Sometimes I come off sounding so normal and wise. WHY that's not a part of everyday life, I'll never know…


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Note: Special thanks to **Jayden Celebrian** and **Lynne Lee** for their great reviews!

Chapter 12

By the time I wake up Sunday morning, the initial shock of I'm-going-to-be-a-big-sister has worn off slightly, leaving me a bit moody. At ten-thirty I'm still lounging around in sweatpants, listening to music and looking out my window at the New York skyline. Then something hits me.

"Oh my God! Dad? Holly?" I call out as I race through the apartment, looking for someone. They're in the kitchen, reading the _Times_. How cute. Not. I have serious business to discuss.

They both look up at me in surprise as I thunder over to them. Holly manages a "Good morning, sweetie," before I blurt out, "We have a problem."

"We…do?" Dad asks confused.

"We don't have another bedroom! We're full," I inform them breathlessly. Then, to my utter shock, Holly indicates the section of the paper she's looking at. The Real Estate section.

"Wh—oh, well, that's good," I finish lamely, all hopes of my earth-shattering discovery spurring everyone into action flying out the window.

"Yeah, we were going to talk to you about it later today. We thought it would be best to wait, because we've been dropping a lot of stuff on you," Holly explains.

"Right—lots of—stuff," I murmur. Then I get angry. No, correction: I get livid.

"SO WE'RE JUST _MOVING_? JUST LIKE THAT?"

Very slowly, I see my parents exchange looks: My dad gives Holly an "I-told-you-so" look and Holly gives my dad a "Don't-look-at-me-in-that-tone-of-voice" look.

"_WELL_?" I demand.

"Kylie," my dad begins, "Sweetie, I know this is a lot to take in right now—the baby, the apartment—but we're all going to go through it and figure it out together, okay?"

"Whatever," I snap. I turn and walk away.

"Where are you going?" they both ask in unison as I head to the door.

"I need some air," I say shortly, reaching for my keys. Then, clad only in plaid pajama bottoms, an old camp t-shirt, and thick socks, I pad out into the hall, slamming the door behind me, probably harder than necessary. I expect someone to run after me, to tell me to get back in the house this instant, young lady, and what the hell do I think I'm doing. When no one comes, I get even angrier and storm over to the elevator.

* * *

Before I know it, I'm out walking around on the street. Several things occur to me, in rapid succession. First off, I'm not wearing a bra. Not a problem when I'm alone in my room, but on the streets of New York, it's a different story. Unless, you know, you're a prostitute or something. Second, I'm not wearing shoes. I know I'm going to regret this very soon, and for a split second I consider running upstairs to grab a pair of flip-flops. But I can't do that. I have to save face. I figure my socks will hold me over for a block or two—they're thick, camping socks. Not that we go camping much—_and we probably never will again_, I add savagely. Third, _this is my street_! _This is my home!_ I grew up here, on this very street! And suddenly, we have to _move_? Also, I have a perfect right to walk around _my_ street looking like a fool. Unless of course, it's against the law. Which I'm not currently up on. 

The blare of an angry taxi shakes me temporarily from my internal rage as I'm crossing the street. With a further stroke of depression, I realize that I'm so upset I can't even react quickly enough to give the stupid driver the finger. I walk on, and an old Green Day song from years ago pops into mind: I walk a lonely road, the only one that I have ever known, don't know where it goes, but it's home to me and I walk alone.

Before I know it, tears are falling hard and fast and I've zoned out the world around me. My feet seem to know their way, though, so I allow myself to fall back into my thoughts. _I didn't ask for any of this! I love babies, and I'm glad Holly's having one, but I didn't ask for it! So why should my life be turned upside-down by it?_

I again her the blare of another angry taxi, and this time my world snaps back. I look around and am shocked to see just how far I've wandered—I've almost reached the firehouse. I abruptly turn on my heel and start walking back home, but I stop when I hear a familiar voice calling my name.

"Kylie! Hey—Kylie!"

I turn around and see Holly's partner Madeleine hurrying towards me.

"Hey sweetie, I thought that was you—why're you dressed like—hey, what's going on?" she asks, taking in my bizarre appearance and, undoubtedly, my puffy eyes. "Do your parents know you're here?" she asks. I slowly shake my head. "Okay, hang on a minute, let me just call to tell them you're with me." I wait while she pulls her cell phone out, dials, and has a quick, brief-worded conversation with someone on the other end.

"Okay," she says, putting the phone away. "Do you want to tell me what's up, hon? You've wandered pretty far." Then she indicates my clothes, "Is that what the kids are wearing these days?" she asks, her voice full of teasing. I smile at her joke, then launch into my story as we walk, complete with tears.

"—and I don't _want_ to move! I'm fine with everything how it is. I'm going to be leaving soon any, for college, and what if I just want everything to stay the same for awhile? Nobody _asked_ me, nobody _asks _me anything!" I finish, gesturing emphatically as my tears dry onto my cheeks.

"Oh, sweetie," Madeleine says, pulling me into a one-armed hug as we avoid a woman walking her dog.

I've been so preoccupied, it hasn't even properly occurred to me just how far I really walked, and how long I must have been gone for. "Did they sound pissed?" I ask Madeleine, indicating the call she made.

"I talked to Holly, she sounded relieved that you were with me, but I don't think they were too worried yet. They know you, they know that you know your way around," she said meaningfully. I realize that she's talking about more than my morning jaunt. "Put it this way though," she adds with a hint of caution, "If it had been much longer, I'm pretty sure they would've had someone from the 55 bringing you home in a squad car." I get kind of nervous, realizing that I'm probably going to be in trouble.

We've almost reached the front of our building when something occurs to me. "Hey, Madeleine, what are you doing working on a Sunday?"

"Still taking extra shifts," she shrugs, "And perfecting my role as a guardian angel." With that, she winks at me as I begin my trudge up the stairs.

"Oh, and Kylie," she calls after me, "You'll be okay, sweetie. There are worse things in the world."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Monday dawns bright and early. I think. I've never known exactly what that means—if you think about it, it's sort of redundant. At any rate, it's (a) a snappy start to a thought, and (b) a not-so-commonly-used-expression, so score one for me. At any rate, Monday's dawning and I am yawning.

I complete my pre-school morning routine (not to be confused with preschool, but you can never be too sure. I don't think my brain works as well this early in the morning, which incidentally is something that I CANNOT STAND when people say. Okay, so your "brain doesn't work well in the morning"? Get over it! I'll have you know your brain works fine: it's the reason you woke up this morning! Had your brain not been working, you would have stopped breathing and DIED. What you _mean_ is that your brain is _fine_, _you_ are simply a _moron_. Or…nope, can't say it in French. I'm taking Spanish.).

Okay. WOW. It's been a long time since I've completely blown past my ENTIRE POINT to make asinine comments. I haven't done _that_ since I had a sip of beer at the 55's annual holiday party last year. I mean, _what_? No, no, officer, I wasn't _drinking_. Ironic, though, because I was surrounded by them. Officers, that is.

Anyway, my point from…some time ago…is (now _was_) that it takes a lot for me to just go completely off the handle. And I think we can characterize "a lot" as this whole Holly-baby-moving bombshell, no?

Once I'm dressed, face brushed and teeth washed (or something), I grab my various scholarly items (cough, backpack, cough. But it doesn't sound as professional) and dash out the door.

Okay, okay. _Don't judge me_. And don't give me the whole "You-shouldn't-ever-leave-without-saying-goodbye-to-your-parents-what-if-they-become-seriously-maimed-at-some-point-in-the-day-today-and-the-next-time-you-see-them-they-are-both-horribly-disfigured" song and dance either. The truth is that we're all still sort of walking on eggshells around each other, especially since my little jaunt yesterday. Basically, I need space. I need to forget about the soon-to-be Baby Nieto. And I need to get up. Literally, because I just tripped getting into the elevator.

* * *

Miraculously, I manage to get onto the subway and get myself to school without further incident. In fact, I'm proud to say that by the time I'm walking up the front steps, I can actually pass for pulled-together and confident, given what I've endured over the past two days—all on the outside, of course. Because on the inside, I'm still a wreck—just ask my parole officer. Okay, wait. That made _no sense_. Not even one, small, infinitesimal _iota_ of sense. See what I mean about that inside-wreckfullness? Maybe not, because "wreckfullness" isn't even a word. 


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14 

The next few weeks are uneventful, which I have to say is a relief after the hailstorm of events that have been raining down upon me. Unfortunately, it just took one more phone call from Ms. Atawell to my dad regarding my continuing tardiness to prove him true to his word: his word, of course, being that if I was late to first period one more time, I would have to be driven to school every morning by either him or Holly. As it is, I've been "reporting" (again, his words, not mine) to the firehouse every day after school—ironically, where I am right now. This morning chauffer role on their part isn't actually that bad—although I am thanking my lucky stars that both of them work the 3-11 shift. This way I don't have to worry about being driven to school in a rig every morning.

Something else which I'm thankful about is the fact that my friends have been _awesome_. When I first found out about the baby and the fact that we're moving (a topic which, by the way, hasn't been discussed much; I think my dad and Holly are worried I'm going to do something rash if the whole leaving-my-childhood-home topic is broached again) I was _sort of_ a wreck. Everyone, especially Justin and Sarah, rallied around me, most likely adopting a motto to the tune of "Kylie's having a major freak-out right now, let's all be supportive."

I like to think that I've been handling all of this really well, you know? I've been focusing on keeping things in perspective: come on, my situation isn't _exactly_ "bring out the violin" material. Speaking of violins however (except not), Justin's been teaching me some guitar chords. Or trying to, at least. I've been under the impression for a while now that I should be making my fingers nimble and whatnot for bandaging gunshot wounds and pushing morphine—obviously into a patient: I like to think that I haven't _quite_ gone off the deep end…yet.

I glance up at the clock. It's close to six, and I haven't made any headway on the _heinous_ math assignment that I'm supposed to be finishing. Honestly, who assigns a _book report _for a math class? Come to think of it, who assigns book reports anymore, period?

_No matter_, I figure as I pack my math stuff away, _I'll BS this later…

* * *

_

It takes me a while before I realize I've zoned out again. I've been sitting at my dad's desk, staring out the window for I don't know _how_ long before the sounds of voices brings me back to the land of…Earth, I guess. It sounds like everyone's back from their respective runs, so I amble downstairs to greet everyone.

"Kylie!" booms D.K. as I stroll into the kitchen where everyone's congregating. "How ya been, kiddo? Since the last time I saw you, which was, jeez, yesterday?" everyone laughs, which is a tip-off to me. It wasn't _that_ funny, so all the guys must be in pretty good moods to be laughing at effectively nothing at all.

"Yeah, well what can I do? Dad's orders," I answer, mocking exasperation.

"Nieto!" someone calls, and my dad appears. "What do you mean by condemning this poor girl to our house everyday?"

"Hey, it's her fault for being late to school," my dad shrugs, covering for something more.

"That's my girl," smiles Walsh appreciatively, "Always the rebel."

"Um, yeah. Whatever," I say, mimicking my dad.

* * *

The rest of the night is pretty quiet, considering the return of all the guys. I don't realize it's so late until I put my book down (I've been struggling with _The Awakening_ for English) and see both Holly and my dad, ready to go with their coats on. 

I grab my stuff and together the three of us—not including the baby, obviously, which by the way I believe at this stage of development is referred to as a _blastula_ (maybe)—walk out of the 55 Firehouse.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15 

I am happy and proud to report that the Nietos have settled into a schedule: at precisely 5:30 every morning, I am shocked into consciousness by (what we sincerely hope is the last of) Holly's morning sickness. At exactly 5:31, my pillow is clamped firmly over my head, but I continue to mumble words of comfort into the bathroom. If it actually comes out like that, that's fantastic. More likely, I sound like a nut ranting in her sleep. By 5:34, my dad's tired grumbling can be heard as he pads across the frigid hardwood floor into the bathroom to hold the various articles of clothing and hair of his wife's out of the way. By approximately 5:42, all sounds pertaining to vomit have more or less subsided, and my dad rubs the area where his soon-to-be second child is currently residing.

At least he's not taking any of this as an insult to his cooking. If only I could get away with the same thing.

Everything is peachy until 6:15, when the parade begins all over again.

By then, I'm most likely looking for a clean pair of socks or dealing with a bothersome pimple. Or I'm running late, in which case I'm still fast asleep.

Holly's about three months along now, so we're looking at a late-summer baby (wow, that's _weird _way to think of it). None of the bizarre food cravings have kicked in yet (unless you count chickpeas and sprouts, except Holly's always eaten that rabbit food stuff), so I haven't been able to try any of that famed pickles-and-ice-cream combination. Although I fully intend on doing it.

It's probably a good thing though, the-absence-of-ice-cream situation, because we are going through a particularly brutal New York winter at the moment.

* * *

Today's Thursday, and I'm hanging out at the firehouse. (By the way, I have _no idea_ when my dad's going to let up on this after-school-reporting-thing). 

"Hey, Kylie."

I turn around at the sound of a voice. I see Grace coming over toward me.

"Hey," I say, folding my chemistry homework into my book.

"What's up?" she asks.

"Not much…homework," I say glumly, indicating my pile.

"I see," she says. "Anyway, Brenden and I are going out on Saturday night. One of his friends from the Academy is being promoted. Do you think you could watch Ally?"

I do a quick mental schedule check. "Sure, I'm pretty sure I'm free. What time?"

"Probably six-thirty to after eleven," Grace says tentatively.

"Okay, shouldn't be a problem," I answer.

"Thanks so much, we really appreciate this, being short-notice and all," Grace says enthusiastically.

"Don't worry about it. I should probably be trying to get all the practice in that I can."

"As long as that practice is for being a big sister and not being a paramedic," Grace winks.

"We'll see…"

"Oh, and by the way, you should know that Ally is going through a major clingy stage," Grace says somewhat apologetically. I get the feeling that she's downplaying the "stage," and that I may be in for an interesting night Saturday.

"Okay," I say somewhat amused. "Is Daniel going to be home?"

"Maybe later," Grace says. "He's got a basketball game, and it depends on if he's coming straight home."

Right then, the alarm goes off throughout the house. All around us, various firemen rush toward the trucks.

"I've gotta go," Grace adds unnecessarily as she turns to leave. "We'll see you on Saturday?"

"Yep, see you," I say as I turn back to my chemistry. I decide that I could have worse weekend plans—after all, I love Ally, and I haven't seen Daniel (my "future husband," if you recall) in a while.

I, Kylie Nieto, am in a pretty good mood.

* * *

Too bad it didn't last. I should have known that today, Friday, wasn't going to be good. After all, Holly got her morning sickness _early_—say, 4:45. The day went downhill from there. 

I burned my toast (admittedly, not a big deal, but in the scheme of things, I believe it's relevant), then dripped juice down my favorite shirt (the one that says "I'll show you my IV stand if you show me yours") but didn't have enough time to change. As a result, I now look like I'm wearing IV fluids on the shirt to boot. Oh, and did I mention that my hair is virtually untamable?

While I _did_ manage to make it to first period on time, I discovered almost immediately that Sarah's not in school today. So here I am, during lunch, sitting with a bunch of Justin's friends. They're mostly the guys in his band and some of their girlfriends, but what with my messy appearance (as well as the admittedly lewd message—albeit in a geeky way—on my chest) I'm not in a particularly _guitar_ _groupie_ mood.

Although Justin _does_ have an amazing ability to make me forget about all that stuff when we're kissing…


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

It's early Saturday evening, the night Grace asked me to baby-sit for Ally so she and Brendan could go out. I'm standing in front of the Finneys' apartment, listening to the callbox-thingy ring. It's abnormally cold, and I stamp my feet, trying to keep warm.

"Hello?" a man's voice that I recognize as Brendan's answers.

"Hey, it's Kylie. I'm downstairs."

"Hey Kylie, I'll buzz you in."

Seconds later, the door hums and I pull it open, grateful to get out of the cold. Once I get into the elevator, it groans almost as if in protest that it should actually be made to transport passengers on this cold of a night.

Brendan and Grace's apartment seems to be in casual disarray when I get in. Grace pulls the door open when I knock, looking harried.

"Hey Kylie, thanks for coming. Ally's in her high chair in the kitchen. If you could finish giving her dinner, because I don't feel like wearing any more of it tonight, we're about ready to leave."

"Um, okay," I say meekly as she rushes off, and her words that seemed to travel at the speed of light trigger a connection in my brain.

"Hey, Ally-o," I say as I go into the kitchen and see Ally. She gives me a delighted grin only slightly marred by the green beans she has somehow stored inside her cheeks. I pull up a chair beside her and watch with amusement as she picks through the rest of her food, seemingly sorting it into "Playable" and "Non-playable" piles.

After a moment, it dawns on me that this will very easily be my life in the not-so-distant future—watching my little brother or sister tempt the boundaries of normal baby-mouth capacity.

Footsteps behind me make me turn as Brendan walks into the kitchen.

"Hey," he says, "How're you doing? I haven't seen you around the station in a while."

"Yeah, well I sort of make it a point to generally avoid the police station—you know, it being a police station and all. But I did do a ride-along with Sully and Ty a few weeks ago," I answer.

"Really? How was that?"

"It went okay, it was for my government project at school."

"Brendan! If we don't leave now, we're going to be late!" Grace's voice calls out from the living room. She joins us in the kitchen.

"Again, Kylie, thanks for coming. We should be back around midnight, maybe later. Call if you have any problems, okay? Oh, and Daniel should be home by ten."

The mention of Daniel's name makes me smile (remember Daniel? Grace and Finney's son who in a fairy tale-like world would be my betrothed?). "All right, sounds good. See you later."

* * *

Several hours later, once Ally's been put to be and I am off active baby-sitter duty (unless there should be an unfortunate Blanket Incident, like last time) I sit down on the couch and for once have some time to think. That may sound weird, I know, but it's like I don't have any time to do that anymore—or anywhere. The apartment lately has been overflowing with baby-related items, and practically every weekend we've been digging through (what I thought was) long-lost random crap, deciding what's going to survive the move and what we're tossing. 

Holly and my dad have been getting along really well—I guess our whole morning sickness routine beat what little he could muster up to complain about out of him. As for me, Holly's been pretty easy to deal with—before she got pregnant we'd been having a little bit of the old (step)mother-daughter-typical-disagreement issues, but that fetus must be giving her a boost of extra-maternal hormones, and she's been a lot less easy to fight with. Which translates to not fighting at all.

As far as my dad and I go, we're going. Or something. What I mean is we're fine, despite my knowing for a fact that he's definitely having sex with my stepmother (Hello? The pregnancy thing? It's still sort of weird though), and the whole him-making-us-move-out-of-my-childhood-home thing. But we're good, old Carlos and I. Except that I don't think that he's going to be too thrilled when I inform him of my much-needed shopping excursion due to the fact that last week I washed one of my lip balms with the rest of my laundry, and I now have enormous grease stains on half of the clothing that I regularly wear.

But you know what? Despite my whole jumping-the-gun, making-huge-deals-out-of-nothing, tendencies-to-freak-out thing (come on, you must've noticed, having been privy to my innermost thoughts over the past couple of months) I really think I'm going to be okay. The moving thing sucks, but I'm getting a _baby sibling_ (and okay, my dad and Holly aren't exactly seeing my side regarding the name Desmond—boy or girl).

Oh my God, I'm accepting the circumstances of my life. _Acceptance_, that's the final stage when you find out you're going to die, right? Except that I don't think I'm dying, I think that I'm growing.

THE END

* * *

Author's Note: That's it, the end! I want to give a big thank-you to everyone who has followed this story through, and an even bigger thank-you to everyone who was brave enough to review (and to everyone who didn't—I know you were reviewing in spirit). 

My longest-running story has come to a close. If it seems random and abrupt, that's exactly what Kylie's been feeling for so long. I hope you enjoyed the character of Kylie that I created, and if I receive enough interest I may do an epilogue. If not, I had a great time, and I hope you did too!


End file.
